In the City, in addition to landscapes, non-places or famous and much-photographed squares, there are the passers-by: unknown people intent on doing things, or simply passing by where the photographer’s eye sees them and catches a gesture, a juxtaposition, an expression or a setting that transforms them from irrelevant ghosts into images, metaphors or whatever else passes through his head.
It could be two white-haired heads looking like balls on the verge of sliding down an inclined plane, or pilgrims in Rome for the Pope’s funeral, in their Bavarian costumes, a stranger tying his shoe on the forecourt of the University, half-hidden by the shadows and lights of sunset, or two seated people who turn their backs on each other in a desolate environment, an oblique gaze transports them out of the banal reality in which they find themselves, and makes an image that is now ironic, now melancholic, but always betrays a certain sense of estrangement, the sense of not being exactly right, in the right place.
